Night Swimming

11:47 PM

Caroline’s hands are still shaking when she kills the engine. Not from the cold, it’s late June and the air’s thick with that heavy summer heat that makes everything feel like it’s underwater anyway. No, she’s shaking because she actually did it. Actually, grabbed Mom’s keys off the kitchen counter and walked out mid-sentence while Dad was explaining, again, why State is more “practical” than an art program.

Practical. Like her life is some kind of budget spreadsheet.

The quarry spreads out in front of her, black water reflecting nothing. The chain-link fence has a hole kicked through it, same one that’s been there since middle school. She used to come here with Jess and Marcus back when they thought they were so badass for swimming somewhere “dangerous.”

Caroline kicks off her sandals and her clothes leaving them by the fence. The limestone is still warm under her feet from baking in the sun all day. She should probably test the water first, but she’s so tired of testing things first. Of being careful. Of listening to everyone else’s opinions about her future like she’s some kind of group project they all get to vote on.

The water hits her like a slap, colder than she expected. She surfaces gasping, and for the first time in months, everything is quiet.

That’s when she sees the other girl.

At first, she thinks it’s a reflection, the water’s so still it could be a mirror. But reflections don’t tread water thirty feet away.

“Oh, fuck,” Caroline breathes, because there’s really no other response when you’re staring at yourself.

The other Caroline smiles. Not Caroline’s usual grin, but something softer. Sadder.

“Hi,” the other Caroline says. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

12:15 AM

“Okay, what the hell.” Caroline has spent the last few minutes trying to make sense of this, and she’s getting nowhere. “You look exactly like me.”

“I am exactly like you. Well, almost exactly.” The other Caroline floats on her back, completely relaxed. “There are some differences.”

“Like what?”

“Like you dove in without checking the temperature first. I could never do that.” The other Caroline’s voice carries something between admiration and fear. “Do you remember the first time you came here? With Jess and Marcus. You were fourteen.”

The memory hits hard. Summer before freshman year. Marcus daring her to jump from the highest ledge while Jess held their phones. That moment of terror before the dive.

“You stood on that ledge for ten minutes,” the other Caroline continues. “You almost climbed back down. Twice.”

This is too accurate. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I did climb back down. In my version.” The other Caroline’s voice gets quieter. “I never jumped, Caroline. I listened to Jess, stayed safe, and Marcus called me a coward for the rest of the summer.”

“Your version of what?”

“Of everything. Of that day, of our life.” The other Caroline floats closer. “In my world, I chose differently. I chose safe.”

Caroline stares at her own face staring back. It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror, except everything’s the right size and shape. Same dark hair, same brown eyes, same stupid freckle constellation across her nose that she’s always hated. But something’s... off. The other Caroline’s hair is shorter, not by much, maybe an inch, and she’s holding herself differently. More careful. Like she’s afraid the water might bite.

“So what, you’re me from some parallel universe where I’m a coward?”

“Not a coward. Careful.” The correction comes fast, defensive.

“Is there a difference?” Caroline laughs, but it comes out sharp. “Because from where I’m sitting, careful just looks like being too scared to live.”

The other Caroline flinches. For a moment they just stare at each other across the dark water.

“You think it’s true,” the other Caroline whispers.

“I think we can’t both be right.”

12:30 AM

Caroline tries to swim toward shore, but something’s wrong. The water feels thicker, like it’s pushing back against her movements. “What is this place? What’s happening to us?”

“The quarry is thin here. Between worlds. Between choices.” The other Caroline’s voice is getting fainter even though she doesn’t look further away. “I’ve been here since sunset, Caroline. The water doesn’t let me leave.”

“What do you mean—” Caroline tries to swim toward shore again, but the water pulls her back to the center like a gentle tide. Her heart starts hammering. “What the hell?”

“We’re trapped until dawn. Both of us.” The other Caroline goes underwater, and when she surfaces, she’s on the opposite side of the quarry. “The quarry won’t let us go until we decide.”

“Decide what?”

“Which one of us gets to exist.”

The words hit Caroline like a physical blow. “That’s insane.”

“Look around, Caroline. Really look.”

Caroline spins in the water. Her clothes are still there by the fence, but they keep shifting when she’s not looking directly, sometimes her usual jeans and tank top, sometimes clothes she doesn’t recognize.

“The universe doesn’t like contradictions,” the other Caroline continues, swimming closer with movements that seem too graceful, like she’s part of the water itself. “Two versions of the same person can’t occupy the same space indefinitely.”

“What happens to the one who...” Caroline can’t finish.

“Dissolves. Becomes part of the water.”

Caroline feels something brush against her leg underwater. When she kicks, there’s nothing there.

“The sun rises at 6:47 AM,” the other Caroline calls across the water. “We have six hours to decide which Caroline gets to drive home.”

2:15 AM

They’ve been circling each other for over an hour, talking in fragments about their different lives. Caroline learns that the other version never dated Jake Morrison, never got suspended for the senior prank, never had the screaming fight with Mom about curfew. But she also never had the rush of performing in the school play, never felt the high of acing a test she didn’t study for, never experienced that perfect moment last summer when she and Tyler kissed on the pier.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” the other Caroline asks, floating on her back. “To just... disappear? Start over somewhere else?”

“Every day.” Caroline’s honesty surprises her. “Especially lately. Like maybe I could just drive to California and become someone completely different.”

“I did that. Sort of.” The other Caroline’s voice is distant. “Not California, but I... became someone different. Someone better. I volunteer at the animal shelter now. I have a steady job at the bookstore. I never worry Mom and Dad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It is.” The other Caroline laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Do you know what it’s like to be proud of yourself for the things you don’t do? I’m proud I’ve never been drunk. Proud I’ve never been in a car accident. Proud I’ve never made Mom cry.”

“Mom cries?”

“When you got suspended. When you came home with that black eye from the skateboarding thing. When you and Dad had that fight about college.” The other Caroline’s knowledge feels invasive, like she’s been watching through windows. “She cries in the laundry room where she thinks no one can hear.”

Caroline feels something cold crawl up her spine that has nothing to do with the water. “She never... I didn’t know.”

“She’s proud of you too, though. Proud of your art, proud that you’re brave enough to chase what you want. She just wishes it didn’t hurt so much to watch.”

They float in silence for a moment. Caroline notices the other Caroline’s movements are becoming more fluid, less human. When she goes underwater, she stays down longer each time.

“What if we’re both wrong?” Caroline asks suddenly. “What if the right choice is somewhere in between?”

“There is no in between.” The other Caroline’s voice echoes strangely now, like it’s coming from inside the water itself. “That’s the point. You can’t be both brave and careful. You can’t live and stay safe. Every choice kills something.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” The other Caroline surfaces right beside her, close enough that Caroline can see her own fear reflected in familiar eyes. “Tell me one decision you’ve made that didn’t cost you something. Just one.”

Caroline opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. Because she can’t. Every choice has had a price. The art program means debt and uncertainty. Dating Tyler meant losing Jake’s friendship. Standing up to Marcus cost her a friend. Even being here tonight means disappointing her parents.

“See?” the other Caroline whispers. “Every version of us lives with regret.”

4:00 AM

The water is getting colder, and Caroline realizes she can’t feel her toes anymore. The other Caroline has been underwater for almost five minutes this time, and when she surfaces, her skin has a strange translucent quality, like light passes through her differently.

“There has to be another way,” Caroline says desperately. “Can’t we both just... leave? Ignore whatever this is?”

“I’ve tried.” The other Caroline’s voice is barely audible now. “I’ve been trying all night. The water won’t let go.”

Caroline swims toward shore again, putting everything she has into it. The water feels like swimming through honey, and she makes it maybe ten feet before the current pulls her back. She’s exhausted, and the other Caroline is watching with something that looks like pity.

“You’re fading,” Caroline realizes with horror. “You’re actually fading away.”

“One of us has to.” The other Caroline looks down at her hands, which Caroline can now see through. “The question is which one.”

“Why you? Why should you be the one who disappears?”

“Because you’re the real one.” The other Caroline’s smile is heartbreaking. “You’re the one who jumped off the ledge. Who chose adventure over safety. Who lived.”

“But you’re here too. You exist too.”

“Do I?” The other Caroline spreads her translucent arms. “Or am I just the shadow of what you could have been? The doubt you carry?”

Caroline feels panic rising in her chest. “No. No, that’s not... you have your own life. Your own choices. You matter.”

“I matter because you made me matter. Because part of you wonders if I was right.” The other Caroline’s voice is fading with her body. “Part of you wishes you had stayed safe.”

“Stop talking like that!” Caroline swims toward her, but the other Caroline drifts away like smoke. “Fight this! Don’t just give up!”

“I’m not giving up.” The other Caroline’s voice is barely a whisper now. “I’m choosing. For once in my life, I’m choosing something brave.”

5:30 AM

Caroline is alone in the water.

She’s been alone for over an hour, calling out to her other self, diving down to look for her, screaming until her throat is raw. But there’s no answer. Just the sound of water lapping against stone and the distant chirping of birds preparing for dawn.

Her clothes on shore have stopped shifting. They’re her clothes now, only her clothes, jeans and tank top and the sandals with the broken strap. The pile looks smaller somehow, like part of it has been erased.

Caroline floats on her back, staring at the sky. The stars are fading, giving way to the pale gray that comes before sunrise. She should feel victorious, shouldn’t she? She won. She gets to exist. She gets to drive home and face whatever consequences wait for her.

But all she feels is empty.

“I would have chosen you,” she whispers to the silent water. “If you had asked me to choose, I would have picked you. You were kinder than me. Safer for everyone.”

The water doesn’t answer. It’s just water now, black and still and ordinary. No magic, no impossible choices, no thin places between worlds. Just a quarry where a girl almost drowned thinking about the life she didn’t live.

Caroline swims to shore with long, tired strokes. The limestone is cold under her feet as she climbs out, and she’s shivering as she pulls on her clothes. They fit perfectly, like they’ve never belonged to anyone else.

6:45 AM

Caroline sits in her car, key in the ignition, watching the sun paint the water gold. She should leave. Should drive home and face whatever punishment waits for her. Should apply to Prescott or State or wherever and get on with the business of living.

But she can't stop thinking about the other Caroline's last words. About choosing something brave.

Maybe the brave choice isn't always the obvious one. Maybe sometimes brave looks like staying home. Like choosing the safe path. Like accepting that you can't live every possible version of your life.

Or maybe brave is learning to live with the choices you make, even when they hurt. Even when they cost you something. Even when part of you will always wonder what if.

Caroline starts the engine. She has a choice to make about college, about her future, about who she wants to be. Not between two versions of herself, but between all the infinite possibilities that stretch out ahead of her.

In the rearview mirror, she sees a flash of the other Caroline. She thinks about her dissolving into water, choosing to let go. And she thinks about what it means to exist, really exist, in all your messy, complicated, imperfect glory.

The quarry shrinks in her rearview mirror as she drives toward home, toward whatever comes next. The sun is fully up now, burning away the last shadows of night, and Caroline realizes she's not the same person who drove here eight hours ago.

She's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

But it's something.